The Relationship Sham
by dorkoriffic
Summary: What if Hermione had found Draco crying in the bathroom? All of a sudden, she has a plan to bring Voldemort down, as well as a plan to get Ron away from Lavender. But she has to remember that nothing ever goes the way its planned... AU HBP; eventual HGDM
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Jean Granger laid in bed, watching the early-morning sunrise creep in through her window and fall smoothly across the tangled blankets at the foot of her four-poster bed.

It was a Monday. Hermione usually didn't mind Mondays much, at least not when compared to the typical teenage student. She liked school. And she _loved _books.

But on this particular Monday, she could hardly bear to think of the long day that stretched in front of her. She shuddered as she contemplated what she would have to do. Sure, a typical Monday at Hogwarts would give her hours of class time and hours more of homework, but Hermione didn't mind gave her a reason to be around all the wonderful books.

No, what Hermione dreaded today was the people. She would be forced to mingle, to make small talk, to answer the questions of professors. And, specifically, she would have to talk to her friends. Ever since Saturday night-

NO! Hermione mentally stopped herself from going down that line of thinking. Today was a new day, she told herself. She refused to dwell on it any more. She had spent all of yesterday lurking in the back corner of the library, reading books full of nasty curses and astoundingly ingenious jinxes she had sneaked out of the Restricted Section, pausing between chapters to weep silently into the collar of her robes. She was over it now. She was not going to waste any more of her time on Ronald Bilius Weasley.

From the bed next to Hermione's, Parvati Patil sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "What timezzit?" she mumbled.

Hermione rolled over and grabbed her wand from the bedside table, clumsily casting the Tempus Charm. "7:30." she told her roommate. Parvati grimaced, and slid off her mattress, shuffling to the bed nearest the door where the final resident of the sixth-year Gryffindor girls dorm still slumbered.

"Lav," Parvati said. "Wake up."

"Mmm?" Lavender Brown sat up, yawning. But Hermione had already leaped out of bed, snatched an only slightly grimy uniform out of her wardrobe, and dashed into the bathroom to avoid catching even a glimpse of a glimpse of Lavender's blonde hair, creamy skin, and cornflower blue eyes that were too perfect to be fair.

Hermione jumped into the shower and sighed in satisfaction at the sensation of the scalding water on her body as she rubbed shampoo into her hair. Clean but dripping, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a warm and fluffy crimson towel out of the cupboard. Though she knew that specific luxury came at the benefit of slave labor, she had never found it within herself to boycott them. Hermione stepped into her red plaid skirt, slipped into her not-so-crisp white Oxford shirt, and shrugged into her gray wool vest. She brushed her teeth, and scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Usually she would cast a hair-drying charm, but Lavender had taught it to her and, though it was petty and ridiculous, Hermione refused to use any knowledge she had learned from that...that...

Hermione shook her head. "Stay positive!" she ordered her reflection. She grabbed a brush and ran it hastily through her still-sopping locks. Later, she would pay for her negligence with a veritable halo of frizzy brown hair, the likes of which she had not seen since she was twelve. But at the moment, as a disheveled Lavender who was, Hermione thought grimly to herself, more beautiful even in pajamas than Hermione could ever aspire to be, entered the bathroom, hair was the last thing on the young bookworm's mind.

In a foul mood already, Hermione stormed out of the Gryffindor common room and made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Sliding into a seat at the end of the table, she absentmindedly grabbed a piece of toast and buttered it.

She heard two thumps, one on either side of her, and looked up from her plate to see her two best friends, Harry and Ron.

"Hey, Hermione." Harry said, as he snagged a waffle and began eating it sans cutlery. "Having a good morning?"

"'Ay, 'Ermione." Ron mumbled around his mouth full of bacon.

What what he thinking, talking to her? Had he forgotten the birds already? She doubted that: the peck marks on his hands and wrists were nearly, but not quite, healed. Hermione vowed to summon something nastier next time. Like grizzly bears. Hermione opened her mouth to make a sneering remark, when Lavender walked up behind Ron. "Won-Won!" she cried, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. She pushed Hermione's chair over a few inches, plopped herself down in Ron's lap, and began feeding him forkfuls of eggs while crooning sickeningly.

Hermione grabbed her toast, stood up, and walked away.

"Wait!" Harry called.

Hermione turned back. "I suppose you're going to defend him?"

"What?" Harry said, affronted. "God, no! That display over there - that is disgusting!" Ron and Lavender had abandoned breakfast and resumed eating each others faces. "Just-" he stood up and walked toward her. "Take an apple too, alright? Vitamin C and all that."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Thanks, Harry."

"It's no problem." her black-haired friend told her. "Look," he lowered his voice. "I know he's being a git. I know how you feel about him, and how you've felt like this for a while, but I'm sure he'll come around soon. If he doesn't, I'll just smack some sense into him until he does."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said bitterly, "But I don't think that's what I want anymore."

Harry looked disappointed, but just shrugged. "Can't say I blame you. But he's my best friend too, you know, and though I think he's making a huge mistake, I'm not taking sides here. 'Kay?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Harry. I wouldn't expect that of you. Making you choose would be wrong."

Harry just smiled. "Hey. I need about four more waffles before I can tolerate Snape's DADA class. See you there?"

"Guess so." Hermione said in return. She turned on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall, taking a bite of the apple as she did so.

It was delicious.

Harry, on the other hand, returned to his seat empty-handed.

"Well?" Ron demanded, as he and Lavender took a break to actually breathe. "What was that about?" He looked slightly guilty as he remembered the birds Hermione had sent at him just two days ago. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, Ron." Harry replied drily. "Hermione's just dandy."

Lavender pouted. "Why are you talking about her, Won-Won? What about me? Why don't you care about me?"

Ron smiled at his girlfriend. "Of course I care about you, Lav-Lav. You're much hotter than she ever was, anyway."

Harry choked on his third waffle.

Ginny Weasley threw herself into Hermione's vacant seat. "Give it a rest, lovebirds. I'd say 'Get a room', except that I would really prefer you _not_, Ronald." She grabbed a piece of toast off Hermione's vacated plate. "Hey, Harry. How's Hermione?"

"What? I would've thought she'd have talked to you already. This would qualify as girl-stuff. And I'm no good at girl stuff."

"Well, I would hope not. And no," Ginny said, brow furrowed. "She hasn't said anything. She spent all of yesterday in the library, reading about curses. I really am worried."

"Eh, she's Hermione." Harry waved off the redheaded girl's concerns. "She'll be all right, Ginny. She always is."

"She's not invincible, Harry!"

"Really?" the green-eyed youth raised an eyebrow. "She seems pretty close."

"Nice hair, Granger." Draco Malfoy drawled, leaning back in his chair. Malfoy, Hermione, and Ernie McMillan were the only ones already in the Defense classroom, as class didn't begin for fifteen minutes yet. Hermione's hair was still dripping from her shower well over an hour later, thanks to its extreme thickness. The whole back of her shirt was damp, and her hair lay in bedraggled curls that went halfway to her waist.

"Shush, Malfoy." Hermione didn't even look up from her defense textbook.

"What happened, Granger? Someone shove your head in a loo?" He smirked, and leaned forward over two desks to grab a curl and make it go 'boing'.

"It's called a shower, Malfoy, and I suggest you become familiar with one sometime before you graduate."

Ernie McMillan choked on a laugh. Both Hermione and Malfoy turned to stare at him. He flushed, and immediately stuck his nose in his defense book.

Malfoy just continued tugging on Hermione's curls, watching them bounce. After a good minute of this, she whirled around in her seat, exasperated. "Cut that out!"

"Why?"

"Because it's childish. And I don't want you touching me."

"You think I want to touch you, you filthy Mudblood?"

"Well, you are..." Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"I'm not touching you." Malfoy replied loftily. "I'm touching your hair. There's a difference."

"Really." Hermione said drily, lifting one eyebrow. "That's very deep of you, Malfoy."

"Thank you, Granger. I try." Malfoy ran his hands through his blonde hair. "I heard your Weasel boyfriend dumped you."

"Shut it, Ferret." Hermione said venemously.

Malfoy smirked again. "Ooh. Sounds like I hit a nerve."

"I told you to shut up." Hermione paused, trying to think of a clever insult. She didn't succeed. "Bitch."

Malfoy shockingly took that in stride. "Really, Granger? That was the best you could do? I'm ashamed."

And unfortunately for Hermione Granger, that little argument was the most pleasant human interaction she would have all day.

Harry sat by Ron during DADA, leaving Hermione to suffer through Ernie McMillan's pompous chuckles, and neither of the boys were in her Ancient Runes class. Hermione sat with Susan Bones, a clever but oblivious Hufflepuff. Usually, Hermione enjoyed doing translations with the smiling redhead, but today they were translating the journal of a fourteenth-century noble who had ordered his first wife executed so he could marry her younger cousin. Hermione had no idea why they were reading this piece in class, as it consisted mostly of foul curses directed towards his late wife and vivid, lecherous descriptions of various assets his new bride possessed. And to add insult to injury, the noble burned all the books of the woman he had had killed.

No, Hermione did not enjoy that class one bit.

In Arithmancy, she worked with Daphne Greengrass, a smart and sassy Slytherin who looked down on Hermione for her heritage but revered her for her brains. The two girls had an interesting relationship. Professor Vector had put them together at the beginning of third year, and the intense competition that ensued between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin had pushed them both to be some of the best Arithmancy students the teacher had ever seen. But the fierce competition also caused them to be bitter rivals, and so Hermione spent the next period alternatingly arguing with Daphne over the proper way to complete a particularly tricky calculation and listening to her blonde rival make jabs about her failure of a personal life.

At lunch, she listened to Ron and Lavender coo over each other for a good two and a half minutes before storming off to the library. In Potions, Harry aggravatingly brewed another perfect potion using his graffitied textbook. And the fumes from Ron's disastrous attempt made Hermione's hair, already frizzy from her morning shower, even worse than she had thought possible. In Herbology, she was distracted while in Greenhouse Three and was bitten by the Venemous Tentacula. She had to be rushed to the hospital wing, where she made an immediate recovery once supplied the antidode. Still, the nasty puncture marks on her wrist were just beginning to fill with pus as she strode into an empty classroom, hoping for a few minutes of quiet to regain her composure.

What she found made her heart twist in her chest and her stomach lurch. Lavender was seated on the teachers desk as Ron stood in front of her, kissing the blonde passionately. They both stopped and looked up as they heard Hermione enter the room. She noticed, detachedly, that Lavender's shirt was unbuttoned and she could clearly see her black lacy bra, even from the doorway.

"Sorry." she heard herself say, as she turned around, slammed the door, and walked mindlessly through the halls. All day, she had been fighting the impulse to cry, and now she decided that it just wasn't worth it anymore. She found herself in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, so she pushed open the door and walked in.

She was already locked in the third stall, sobbing into her folded arms, when she realized she wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" she heard a rough male voice say hoarsely, from the next stall over.

"None of your business," Hermione said back. "And why are you in a girls bathroom, anyway?"

"None of your business," the boy shot back aggressively.

"Well, go away!" Hermione choked out, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She grimaced in disgust when she noticed the slimy trail of snot she had left upon the cloth.

"Why should I?" challenged the boy. "What authority do you have to kick me out of the bathroom?"

"I'll have you know that I'm a prefect, and that, combined with the requisite duties of my gender, provides legitimacy for and necessitates your immediate expulsion from this area at my discretion."

"Sweet Merlin, woman, what did you do, swallow the Prefect's Handbook?" Hermione could hear the sneer in his voice. She didn't like it.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you stay." In the back of her mind, Hermione observed that her despair had been, at least partially and temporarily, displaced by irritation and rage.

"My girlfriend just dumped me, my so-called friends will string me up if I show weakness to them, and Moaning Myrtle gives the best sympathy around." His voice sounded much more raw than it had before, and Hermione could sense the truthfulness in his words.

"She does, doesn't she." Hermione stated, hearing and hating the quaver in her voice. "I don't think she's here, though."

"No."

Hermione could feel her throat tightening in the drowning sorrow that was once more washing over her. She let out a half-stifled sob, and heard the boy sigh in exasperation.

"Are you going to cry again? Please don't. I don't like it when girls cry. It's annoying."

"Well, if you're going to complain you can just leave!" she rebutted, sitting up straighter and crossing her arms. "All I wanted was half an hour for some catharsis and solitude, and what do I get? Some upstart, tetchy little boy who wants to whine about his own problems and who won't leave me alone!"

"Hey!" On the other side of the polished wood dividing wall, Hermione could feel the boy sit up too. "Oh, please! Like you're the only one with problems. You have no idea, the kind of stress I'm under."

"Yeah, right. You're clearly just some spoiled, pureblood brat who's-"

"I am NOT spoiled!"

"- upset because he didn't get his way for once in his entire life. I give you twenty more minutes before you go crying to Daddy about your tiny little issues."

"DON'T TALK ABOUT FATHER LIKE THAT!"

The words echoed on the tile walls. There was an awkward pause, and then Hermione's mind made the connection between those words and those all-too-similar words she had heard countless times previously, and she leaped to her feet and slammed open the door and screamed, incredulous, "MALFOY?"

The pale, pointy-featured boy sitting on the ground looked horrified and then repulsed. "Oh dear Lord, Granger, what in the name of God happened to your _hair_?"

"I really don't think that's the issue, here, _Draco_." Hermione sneered with more venom than she had previously known she possessed.

"Well then what is the issue?" Malfoy pointed out with uncharacteristic rationality. "I came in here for a bit of a sulk, you came in with the same idea in mind, we argued with each other as per usual, and then you decided to become scandalized, God knows why. _I'm _the one with the issue - I can't be talking with someone of your pedigree, it could be contagious - but you don't see me sniveling, do you? It's because I, Draconius Lucius Abraxus de Malfoy von Trapp, am a better person than you." He sat there with an unbearably smug expression on his face.

Hermione couldn't decide between slapping away the smugness and laughing hysterically. She opted for both.

"Ow! You psycho-bitch! I know you're a mudblood, but seriously! What the hell is wrong with you?" Hermione just giggled. "Stop that snickering! Stop it right now! What is so funny? Cut it out!"

"You have the most ridiculous name ever! Do you like to skip around with your nursemaid, Maria, wearing dresses made of curtains? Do you have a beautiful singing voice? Hmm...technically, you _are _sixteen going on seventeen..." Hermione collapsed into giggles once more.

Draco stood up and stared blankly at her. "I don't understand what you're doing. I... think I'll be leaving now."

"Go ahead!" Hermione chortled. "I never would have thought that Draco Malfoy could make my day better... I guess anything's an improvement over Lav-Lav and Won-Won..."

Draco, already half out the door and aiming a rude hand gesture at the brunette Muggleborn, stopped dead in his tracks. "Won-Won?" he said gleefully. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

"Oh, shoot." Hermione sighed, all traces of cheer erased from her face. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Won-Won!" Draco crowed. "Oh, that's good! Who would have thought that Granger the Mudblood could make my day better. Well, considering the task and Blaise and Daphne, that really wouldn't be too hard."

"Blaise and Daphne?" Hermione questioned. "Really? I never would have seen them together on my own, but now that you point it out, I guess they are a bit cute together... Wait. Task?"

Hermione's brain whirred in double time, processing his words, and clicked as it stumbled on the exact answer. She stared at Malfoy with wide open eyes, waiting on tenterhooks for his mind to hear his mouth's mistake. "Harry was right," she breathed.

"Stop gawping, Granger. What do you have to get so excited... about... any... way..."

Malfoy gaped in internal horror. "Oh, shit."


	2. Chapter 2

"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. "You're a Death Eater!"

"Keep it down, will you!" he hissed. "There's no need to tell the whole world!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh...Damn..." Malfoy scowled. "I mean... I am not a Death Eater. You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy, Malfoy." Hermione said, raising herself up to her full height. Which was, admittedly, not very impressive, but she tried. "I know you're working for Voldemort. There's no use pretending."

Malfoy flinched.

"Oh, please!" scoffed Hermione, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "You're working for the man; you should be able to say his name."

"Hey, he's damn creepy!" shot back Malfoy. "Er...that is...I am not working for him!"

"You're so believable," the bushy haired girl said sarcastically, and rolled her eyes. "Look. I'm top of my year for a reason. You're not fooling me."

"Please!" the blond boy said scathingly, screwing up his face in condescension. "You don't really want me to tell you about what I've been doing for You-Know-Who. You couldn't handle it."

Hermione gasped, outraged. "I could so! You have no idea what I've had to deal with!"

"So you tagged along with Potter for a while. Big fucking deal." Malfoy crossed his arms, and looked at her with scorn in his eyes, spitting his words out with venemous hate. "What did you do, really? Tagged along in his quest for the Sorcerer's Stone. Got yourself turned into a statue by a snake. Sat sniveling on the ground while Potter got rid of your dementors for you. Watched as your friend made it through the Triwizard Tournament. Followed him along on his mad quest to the Ministry-"

"I helped him there!"

"No, you didn't! You got hit with a curse early on and were out for the count for months afterward. You can't handle anything. You think you're some battle-hardened woman, but no way. You're just some little mudblood girl who's admittedly fairly clever. But you're not as ready for the real world as you think you are. You haven't seen anything yet."

Hermione clenched her teeth and went white, then pink with fury. "Stop saying those things!" she snapped. "They're not true, and you know it! You don't know the half of what I've done!"

"No, I don't." drawled Malfoy. "I know the important half, but I don't really care about the rest, so please don't tell me."

"Tell me what Voldemort's got you doing." Hermione said in a low voice, stepping closer to the blonde Slytherin. "You didn't sound too enthusiastic earlier, when you were talking about your 'task'. Tell me."

Malfoy swallowed, suddenly serious. "No. Need I remind you that only five minutes ago you were in here, crying about your farce of a love life? You couldn't deal."

Hermione broke eye contact and looked down and away to the side, saying in annoyance, "I'd only just forgotten..."

Then she stood up straighter and looked into his eyes again. "Need I remind you that only five minutes ago, you were in here, crying about the exact same thing? Difference is, I can run circles around you as far as spellcasting goes. And working for Voldemort is serious business. Whatever he's up to, it's not good. Whatever you know could save countless lives. I'm prepared to do whatever I have to to keep the students safe."

"Let me guess." Malfoy said snidely. "It's your duty as a prefect."

"It's my duty," Hermione replied, "As a witch."

"Stop being so noble." Malfoy told her wearily. "There's no need. I'll spill."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, composing himself, then turned away from Hermione and walked over to the blank stone wall next to the door, sliding down its surface until he sat on the grimy bathroom floor, legs stretched out in front of him. Hermione hesitated, then followed.

"Really? You'll talk?"

He looked at her, and Hermione was surprised to find his gray eyes dull and emotionless, barren of the hate and revulsion she had become accustomed to seeing there. "Why do you sound so surprised?" he asked. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"It is, it is!" Hermione said hurriedly. "It's just...I never really expected...never mind. Talk."

Malfoy sighed. "I shouldn't be telling you this." he mumbled. "Father would kill me." He leaned his head back, and it connected with the stone wall with a muffled thump. "But I have to tell somebody, somebody who's not a useless fawning Slytherin. And...Well...You may not be much, but you are smart. You were right about that."

He turned to her. "But you have to promise me something. You have to promise not to tell anyone. Not Potter, not Weasley. Not anyone. And - "

"I can't do that." Hermione interrupted.

"What?" Malfoy queried, stunned. "I thought-"

"If anybody's life is in danger, anybody at all," Hermione began, "I have to tell. I can't stand by while people die. I won't tell Harry. I won't tell Ron. But can I tell Dumbledore? Or, failing that, Mad Eye Moody?"

"I-" Malfoy paused. "I guess so. But-but-only those two people, okay? Not even McGonagall."

"Why not Professor McGonagall?"

"She doesn't like me. And I don't like her. We clear?" Malfoy looked hard at Hermione, and she nodded. "Good. I need you to promise something else, too."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"I need you to promise to help me. You know. If I need it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall. "Oh, please, Malfoy." She turned her head to the right and looked at the side of his face. "Why do you think I asked?"

"Um..." he said slowly, "You were just curious? Mostly, I thought it was to help your friends...You know, see what you could find out for Potter..."

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "Yeah, I want to know so I can help people. You're a person. Therefore, I'll help you. Now start talking. I don't have all day, and I keep forgetting that I don't actually like you. But I don't. And this bathroom is getting dirt on my skirt. And probably my socks, too."

"Glad to see you've got your priorities straight, Granger," Malfoy snarked, but he had a slight smile on his face. That smile slid off his countenance as he began to speak.

"After my father was...disgraced last spring, because of that fiasco at the MInistry of Magic, You-Know-Who wanted...Oh, who knows what he wanted. Control over the Malfoy family? A new Death Eater to replace my father, now that he was in jail? Just to mess with us? Doesn't really matter. What happened was, I got off the train last June, my mother apparated me home, and when I got there...the Death Eaters. I had suspected it was coming for a while, ever since we'd learned he was back, and...I don't want to be a Death Eater, I don't want this life. I had a plan. I was going to graduate Hogwarts, and then run away to France with Mum. I just hadn't been expecting the induction to come so soon. I should have, but I didn't. And they took me to this...cave...and they...Well, I don't want to talk about it."

Hermione looked into his face. "Is it.." she began hoarsely. "Is it true you have to kill someone to become a Death Eater?"

He looked at her, anguish in his eyes, and nodded. "Yes. It's true."

He bent his head over, resting his forehead on his palms, and heaved a sigh. "I didn't kill her," he said, in a small, weak, exhausted voice. "You have to believe me. I didn't want to kill her and I didn't want her to die. But... When I wouldn't, Avery took her and... Well.

"She was just this little girl!" His voice cracked from regret and horror. "Just this little muggle girl, and I...I should have protected her, I should have grabbed her and ran away, but I was scared and now, because of me, she's dead. And I never knew her name.

"And it was just this little muggle girl, and I shouldn't care this much, Father always said that Muggles weren't humans like we were. He always said they were like animals, living in the filth, and he said they didn't have souls like we did, and he said that it was okay if we killed them because they weren't even important enough for an afterlife, they were just...insects..." The truth came pouring out of him like a river with the dam suddenly broken, the words tumbling over each other in their urgency to be heard. He didn't even pause to breathe, just unleashed his words upon the world and waited for them to make an impact. He went on.

"But I don't believe that anymore. Because every time I close my eyes, I see her face, her little scared face, and then I see her dead body, like a little doll, like a little broken doll lying on that stone floor, and in my dreams I can hear her screams, and in my dreams I can smell her blood, and the only thing that makes it seem even a little better is that I know, I know that she's gone on to a better place, because if she hasn't? If, for that little girl, if there was just six or so too-short years of happy life followed by one night of pain and then an eternity of nothing...

"I just don't think I could live with myself."

Malfoy lifted his head up and looked at Hermione, and she could see tears glistening, unshed, in his eyes. He lifted an arm and swiped at them, and then croaked,

"I don't know why I'm talking to you. I don't even like you, not really. But...I had to get it off my chest. Because I know the guilt and the nightmares will still keep me awake, but maybe now the secrecy won't. And Granger?"

"Yes?"

"I could do with some sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

I forgot the disclaimer for the first two chapters. Here it goes: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

There was silence. Hermione screwed up her face in concentration, then began braiding her still frizzy hair while she took some time to think.

"Why...why did they let you into the Death Eaters if you weren't the one to kill that girl?" she asked slowly, still fiddling with her hair.

"I don't know." Malfoy said wearily. "I just don't know. I think... Well, You-Know-Who himself wasn't actually there, and...my dad...I wish they hadn't let me in, but if they hadn't I guess I'd be dead, so...in the end..."

Hermione took a long, deep, slow breath. She finished braiding her hair, then rapidly shook her hair loose again and started over.

"What are you doing now? What can you tell me about Voldemort's current activities?"

Draco sighed. "He gave me a mission."

Hermione looked at him, eyeswide, silently urging him to continue.

"I'm supposed to kill Dumbledore."

Hermione had not been expecting that. Had Voldemort gone crazy? Asking Malfoy of all people to try and kill the only wizard he had ever feared seemed utterly insane. Malfoy was sixteen. Sixteen! He couldn't even kill a six year old, though maybe Voldemort didn't know that tidbit of information. Still, did he really expect Malfoy to succeed?

No, she suddenly realized, he didn't. He didn't expect Malfoy to kill Dumbledore, he expected him to die trying. Oh, dear.

"Malfoy, I think..." Hermione began to voice her concerns, but Malfoy waved a hand and looked resignedly at her.

"Don't say it," he said slowly, "I know. I know he expects me to die. I...I...That's why I need your help."

"I'm not going to help you kill the headmaster!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified.

"No! Oh, Merlin, no!" Malfoy answered, shock clouding his words. "I didn't mean your help with the missions. I meant your help getting out of them."

Hermione pressed her lips together like she had seen McGonagall do so many times before, and then she shrugged. "I don't know what I can do, without the help of the Order. If you give me your plans, I can... Oh, jeez. I thought I could be useful, but really? We have to go to Dumbledore."

"No!" Malfoy said frantically. "Not yet!"

Hermione sighed. "Look, what's your plan for killing him right now?"

"I don't have one. But, well... Okay. Here's the thing. The Dark Lord doesn't just want me to kill Dumbledore. He's also got me working on a plan to sneak some Death Eaters into the castle. And for that, I have a plan."

"Really? You do?" Hermione hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but the words just came out that way. Oops.

"Hey!" Malfoy smiled, a weak, pathetic smile, but it was an attempt. "No, this idea is actually pretty good. I've been working on it since before school started - it's with the Vanishing Cabinet. You know, the one Montague got stuck in a few years ago? Well, as I"m sure you know, Vanishing Cabinets only come in matched pairs. I figure, if I can just fix this cabinet, that'll get the Death Eaters in no problem, because the other cabinet, it's at-"

"Borgin and Burke's!" Hermione gasped excitedly. "So that's what you were buying that day!"

Malfoy looked at her strangely. "Uh...yeah. Um, how did you know that? Were you...Were you following me?"

Hermione blushed. "Harry... Well, you know he hates you, and he saw you heading off someplace and followed in his invisibility cloak. And we - Ron and I, that is - came too, and saw you buying something. We just couldn't figure out what it was..."

"You followed me?" The Slytherin was aghast.

"Malfoy, I told you," she said, not meeting his eyes, "Harry's had his suspicions about you all year long. He's had a theory that you were a Death Eater since that day in Knockturn Alley. It's just that Ron and I haven't believed him. Turns out Harry's more perceptive than I ever gave him credit for. Strange, that..."

"Potter knows?"

"Harry thinks he knows." Hermione corrected him. "He has absolutely no proof, and nobody's really inclined to believe him. He...Oh, God, Malfoy," she groaned, "It was you with the necklace, wasn't it..."

"I...yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I didn't think it would work, but I didn't think Katie would get hurt, either. I'm sorry, I guess, that it turned out that way, but I was panicking, and...well..."

"She's probably going to be all right," Hermione said, "But you can't keep on like this. You have to stop. You have to get help."

"I am getting help!" Malfoy insisted. His voice lowered, and he looked straight at Hermione. "I came to you, didn't I, Granger?"

"Yes. You did." Hermione looked right back at him. "But you need more help than I can give you. I can help with...well, I can help with a lot of things, but I can't go toe-to-toe with Voldemort to try and free you. That's someone else's job."

"Dumbledore's." Malfoy stood up. "Okay. I'll go. But you have to come with me."

Hermione stood up, brushed dirt off her clothes, and then cracked the door open, peeked her head out the doorway, checked for people, and then turned back to Malfoy.

"The coast is clear," she reported, and then she slipped through, her skirt swishing behind her as she crossed the threshold, her messy half-braided hair bouncing maniacally as she trotted down the hall. Malfoy followed, rather more sedately.

"This isn't Dumbledore's office!" he hissed, as they drew close to the door to the office of the Head of Gryffindor House. "You promised no McGonagall!"

"I know! But I can't go talk to him immediately. I can't get into his office. Professor McGonagall can. See it now?"

Malfoy nodded, but he didn't look happy. Hermione didn't really care whether or not he looked happy, she reminded herself. It had been so completely out of character for him even to talk to her, let alone spill his secrets, and she wondered at how messed up, psychologically, he must have been to turn to her, his sworn enemy, for comfort.

Not, she reminded herself again, that she cared. It was so hard to remember that she didn't actually like the guy, when he was going and being all anguished. But he had been a complete and utter jerk to her for the past five plus years. She was only helping him because she...well, she had to. If doing so could save lives...

She knocked on the door. THere was a vague rustling noise, then Professor McGonagall answered the door, looking very severe. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," she said, politely but firmly, "Immediately."

"Miss Granger," the professor said drily, "The headmaster is a very busy man. Surely it can wait?"

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said frankly, "You are my absolute favorite teacher, and I want to be just like you when I grow up. But honestly, Professor, this is the sixth year I've been your student, and I think by now you should've learned that when I need to talk to the headmaster, there's usually a pretty good reason. So...?"

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath in through her mouth and released it through her nose. "Miss Granger! Your impertinence is shocking! But..." she stepped out the door to her office, and began striding down the hall. "You're right. I'll bring you to the headmaster right away. I...Mr. Malfoy." She greeted the Slytherin coolly, disguising her surprise very well. "Miss Granger, I shall trust that their is a good explanation for this, but I won't request it at this time."

The two teenagers followed her to Dumbledore's office. She whispered the password, and then looked sternly at the two of them. "Go straight up. Talk to Professor Dumbledore. And if I find that you were lying to me about the urgency of this appointment, the consequences will be...severe."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

Malfoy raised his hand and gave the older woman a very awkward wave. She fixed him with a penetrating look, and he gulped, before shrinking under her gaze and hurriedly following Hermione up the steps.

They paused at the door to Dumbledore's office. "You ready for this?" Hermione asked Malfoy, and he nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he assured her. "Let's do this." 


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

"Miss Granger? Mr. Malfoy?" The professor looked slightly surprised to see them, but he merely gazed placidly at the duo over his half-moon glasses before shuffling various papers on his desk and leaning back in his tall purple chair. "Please. Take a seat. And to what do I owe this visit?"

"We need to talk to you." Hermione said briskly.

"Of course," replied the professor.

"It's...important." Malfoy said reluctantly, then sat heavily down in the leftmost chair.

"I expected so, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Dumbledore, and he folded his hands and leaned forward expectantly.

Hermione sat lightly down on the other chair, crossing her legs anxiously and waiting for Malfoy to speak.

He did.

He recounted the entire story from start to finish, with much more detail than he had given her a few minutes earlier. His voice was blank and emotionless, and though it quavered from time to time as he spoke, he seemed to have replaced his previously flawless mask of emotions. Hermione was intrigued, wondering about the immense discrepancy between his current and previous demeanor.

He finished conveying all the information maybe half an hour after the pair had entered the office. Professor Dumbledore looked troubled.

"I am glad you felt you could come to me with this information, Mr. Malfoy, but I must admit that this worries me. I take it from your confession that you no longer wish to be a member of the Death Eaters?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, "Yes, sir."

Professor Dumbledore's face stayed serious, but Hermione thought she saw a twinkle appear in his eye. "Good! Very good. Now, I have a few...suggestions. First, though, might I inquire as to the reason that you have been accompanied by Miss Granger? Believe me, I am pleased to see that the two of you are overcoming House rivalries, but considering your relative histories, I am a little surprised."

Hermione blushed. She wasn't sure why, but she could still feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She ignored it, of course. "Honestly, Professor, I have to confess that I'm really not sure how I ended up here, with Malfoy."

Malfoy shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Granger came across me in Moaning Myrt-I mean, in a hallway somewhere. I was, ah, upset, and she was...concerned. You know, because she's nice like that. And I just needed someone to talk to, and as soon as she figured out the circumstances of my...situation...with the Dark Lord, she insisted that I come to you for help. I don't want to work for You-Know-Who anymore, and I think you're probably the only one who can help me."

"I believe I can help." Dumbledore looked reassuringly at Malfoy over his glasses. "My question is, would you like Miss Granger to leave while we discuss more private matters?"

Malfoy looked over at Hermione. He ran a nervous hand through his platinum-blonde hair, messing it up unintentionally until it was almost as disheveled as Harry's. Hermione smiled internally. She would love to see Malfoy's horrified expression if he looked in a mirror and saw that his hair looked like a bleached rats nest.

But she focused once more on the important topic at hand, as she snapped her chocolate brown eyes once more in line with the grey orbs of one Draconius Lucius Abraxus de Malfoy von Trapp.

On another related side note, Hermione refused to believe that that was his real name... He must have made it up to make himself sound more important. Where on earth would he have acquired the surname von Trapp? That was just ridiculous...

"Granger? Granger? Oi! Earth to Gryffindor!"

She started out of her trance and looked back at Malfoy. "Oh! Er, what?"

"I want you to stay." Malfoy turned back to Professor Dumbledore, and said, "I don't like Granger, but I do trust her and value her judgement. You can say what you want in front of her."

"Good!" Professor Dumbledore smiled calmly, placing both his hands on his desk, and Hermione found her gaze irresistably drawn to his wrinkled, shriveled black hand. She shuddered, then averted her eyes, staring instead at her scuffed brown school shoes. She really needed new ones, she thought. She shook her head in frustration. Her thoughts kept going every which way - why couldn't she focus?

"-don't think that would be your best option." Dumbledore was saying, and Malfoy was nodding along. "Now, you could just desert outright, but if you did that you'd have to stay either at Hogwarts or a safe house until the war is over. And I understand that you're concerned about the fate of your family if that happens?"

Malfoy nodded. "Father's still in prison, but that's just a formality. Oh! That's another thing. The Dark Lord has plans for a prison break sometime in the upcoming few months. Azkaban isn't really very well guarded to start with, and after the desertion of the dementors...well. You should probably get some people on that. But, yes, I am worried about Mum. She's back home at Malfoy Manor, which isn't currently but will soon become the Death Eater's headquarters. They might kill her. You can't let that happen."

"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, I will not allow such an event to occur." The headmaster took off his glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his robe. In the silence that followed, Hermione could hear the rustling of the former headmaster's portraits that were hung on the wall behind his desk.

"I have a suggestion, Mr. Malfoy, and I don't know how you're going to feel about this," Professor Dumbledore said honestly, "And I feel a pang of guilt about even suggesting that an underage student try such a thing. But I truly feel that the benefits of this endeavor could be...invaluable to the mission of the Order of the Phoenix."

"I'm not joining the Order." Malfoy said stubbornly.

"I'm not asking you to," replied the headmaster, "I'm asking you to become a spy."

There was silence. Hermione fidgeted, playing with the hem of her red woolen skirt. Malfoy just sat there, astounded, eyes wide. He leaned forward, placing the weight of his head on his elbows, twining his fingers through his hair. Hermione thought privately that this step sent his hair over the edge from messy to ridiculous. It was a little bit endearing, actually, and really very cute.

She waited for his reply to the headmaster's suggestion. He swallowed, and Hermione could see a muscle smasming in his temple. He sat up again, looked straight at Professor Dumbledore, and nodded. "Yes. I'll do it."

"Thank you." Professor Dumbledore was serious, and he leaned forward. "I will not dishonor you by warning you of the dangers of your choice. I know that you are well aware of the dangers. You're a bright young man, and you've been born and raised with the threat of what will happen if you desert the Death Eaters hanging over your head. I advise you to be careful. But beyond that I have no practical experience with espionage. I can teach you theory, but untested theory. And untested theories could turn...lethal. So I will refer you to Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape's a spy?" Hermione burst out, unable to restrain herself.

"Yes." The headmaster fixed her with an authoritative expression, and continued. "But I must impress upon you that this fact must remain secret. If anyone hears, anyone at all, it could mean torture and death for Professor Snape. Tell nobody, not even Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. I do trust them with this information, but they can sometimes be...confrontational. Please, I implore you, be discreet."

"Yes, sir." Hermione replied meekly. "I understand."

"Good." Professor Dumbledore smiled. "And now, I recommend that the pair of you go down to dinner. We've had enough discussion for today. Mr. Malfoy, Professor Snape will be expecting you tomorrow after classes. Miss Granger, might I request that you return to my office tomorrow at that same time? I have some interesting questions I'd like to pose to you. I seem to have underestimated not your intelligence, but your emotional maturity."

Malfoy stood up, nearly leaping to his feet. "Yes. Dinner. Let's go."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said politely, standing up carefully, if not gracefully. "I'll certainly come back tomorrow. Thank you for all your help."

Professor Dumbledore smiled, and she saw his eyes twinkle again. "Let me say that it honestly was my pleasure to have such a fascinating and gratifying conversation with the two of you. Now go and eat."

Hermione flashed another courteous smile, and then departed, Malfoy trotting along on her heels. Halfway down the flight of stairs, he grabbed the wrinkled sleeve of her oxford school shirt. "Hey, Granger."

Hermione turned and looked at him,. He was ordinarily about six inches taller than her, and since he was still a step higher than she was on the staircase, he towered above her. "Yes, Malfoy?"

"I need your help with one more thing." Malfoy said, and his grey eyes locked with hers. Hermione gulped, her mouth completely dry all of a sudden. "Meet me outside the Great Hall after dinner."

"All right, Malfoy," she acquiesced, "But it better be important."

He smirked. "Oh, it is. And don't worry. It'll help you with your problem du jour as well."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but before shhe could ask the necessary question, he had brushed past her and continued walking smoothly down the rotating spiral staircase.

She wrinkled her nose in annoyance, but followed.  


* * *

Dinner was an affair full of laughter. "Lav-Lav" and "Won-Won" had already eaten and left, so Hermione sat with Harry, Ginny, and Seamus Finnigan. Seamus spent the entire dinner regaling them with stories from the summer he'd spent in America with his Muggle cousins. Hermione had snorted half her goblet of pumpkin juice out her nose when she heard how Seamus's cousins had chalked up his habits of pointing at various items and asking if they worked on 'elctrisky' to his Britishness. Perhaps the story hadn't been particularly funny, but after the afternoon she had just had, Hermione needed to laugh.

But as she was finishing up her plate of apple pie, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Draco Malfoy waving frantically at her. She swallowed the last bit of apple, took a sip of her milk, and then stood up. "Thanks for the stories, Seamus, but I've got to go. Studying, you know?"

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go, stick your nose in a book. Hey, Harry, want to play chess with me?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed, "Ron's busy, and he always beats me anyway."

Seamus grinned. "Hey. You're still going to lose."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that!" Harry said, in mock outrage, and then the two boys began to laugh.

Ginny just sighed. "Boys." she said, by way of explanation, and then gestured to Hermione. "Go read about Potions or something. Shoo!"

Hermione smiled, and then walked away. Malfoy was waiting just outside the entrance hall, tapping his foot impatiently and gesturing at an imaginary watch on his wrist. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. He ignored her, grabbed her by the elbow, and led her gently but firmly down in the direction of the dungeons.

"What is this?" Hermione whispered, "Is this about...you know, earlier today?"

"It's not about...THAT." Malfoy replied aloud, continuing to walk briskly. Hermione had to take extra long steps to keep up with him. "It's about the problem that led you to the bathroom earlier today."

"What?" Hermione asked, confused. "What could you possibly do to fix that whole situation?"

They had arrived at a stretch of blank wall that Hermione recognized as leading to the Slytherin common room.

"Ron's the jealous type, right?" Malfoy asked, moving closer.

Hermione nodded, confused.

"So's Daphne," he hissed in her ear, then grabbed her by both shoulders and kissed her.

It was the last thing Hermione had been expecting. She stood there for a few seconds, looking and feeling stunned, until Malfoy broke away and looked at her, annoyed. "Come on, Granger! Act!"

:"What the hell, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed loudly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm kissing you." he said, using that tone of voice one reserves for small children and the particularly dense. "You know, to make Ron and Daphne jealous. But you're not doing a very good job acting."

Hermione just stood there, dumbstruck.

"What, you think this is fun for me?" Malfoy glared cruelly at her. "I'm doing a job. You should be too. Now kiss me, and pretend to like it."

Hermione frowned, and opened her mouth to argue some more, but Malfoy silenced her by covering her mouth with his. She took a step backward in surprise, and felt her back slam against the stone wall of the common room entrance. Malfoy put his arms around her waist, resting his hands just above her hips, and she could feel the heat from his hands through the thin fabric of her shirt.

Hermione sighed to herself, and began to act. She went up on tiptoes, twining her fingers through Malfoy's blonde hair, and was surprised by how silky his hair was. He began unbuttoning her shirt, and she slapped his hands away.

"Hey! No!" she hissed, and she felt him sigh slighlty.

"Damn," he whispered, breaking the kiss again, and then he whispered, "Purity and Justice," before kissing her again. Hermione maintained the act, but she wasn't sure how well this plan was going to work, until the stone wall dissolved, and she went crashing down onto the floor of the Slytherin common room, Malfoy landing on top of her. She felt the air be knocked out of her lungs, and she could only imagine how sketchy the position they were in looked to the general public.

But she kept her hands in Malfoy's hair, and he kept kissing her, as the whispers rose in the Slytherin common room. After about three more seconds, Malfoy looked up.

Hermione saw the blood drain from his face, and he scrambled to his feet. Hermione followed, and she could feel her entire face turning tomato red, from her neck up to her hairline.

"Er-" Malfoy stuttered, "Er-It's not what it looks like-I mean, uh...It's just-"

Hermione smoothed her skirt, and frantically fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. They were all fastened, of course, but nobody else needed to know that. "Sorry to, er, disturb you." she heard her voice say, mortified, "We'll just be going now. Come on, Draco."

She grabbed his hand and walked away from the Slytherin common room, muttering the password, and she heard loud whispers rising behind the two of them Somebody wolf-whistled, and somebody else shouted, "Mudblood!" That call was followed by a shout of "Blood traitor!" and soon the whole room was shouting epithets at the two of them.

Luckily, Hermione and Malfoy were long gone by that point.

"That wasn't bad, Granger," Malfoy admitted grudgingly. "You pick up on things quick. All right. That story should have made it to half the school by breakfast tomorrow, and to the rest of it by lunch. Your boyfriend the Weasel will be furious, and Daphne will be steadfastly trying to pretend that she doesn't care. Mission accomplished."

"Are you sure you want to attract attention to yourself like this, especially since you're also going to...you know...with Voldemort?"

"Au contraire, Granger." Malfoy answered, the smirk once more on his face. "There are several good excuses I can feed my father regarding this occasion, and it will serve to distract their attention from my real disloyalty to my false affection towards you. Shall I escort you back to the Gryffindor common room?"

Hermione wrenched herself free of his grip. "I think I'll manage on my own, thanks," she replied drily, but Malfoy threw his arm around her shoulders.

"Let me rephrase, Granger. I will be escorting you back to your common room. Now put your arm around my waist and comply with my wishes, We have to make an impact."

Hermione shot him a ferocious glare, but for some reason, she wrapped her arm around his waist and began to walk. Malfoy spent the entire trip back to the common room whispering what probably appeared to be sweet nothings into her ear, but was actually a summary of the chapter in potions they would be quizzed on the following day. From time to time, Hermione giggled and whispered corrections into his ear. Both sides of the conversation were littered with brutal, creative, and in the case of Malfoy, vulgar insults. They appeared to be a sickeningly sweet couple, but in reality? They were anything but.

They arrived back at the common room. Hermione pasted a horrifically soppy smile on her face, got up on tiptoes, and whispered in Malfoy's ear, "You know, I keep forgetting that I actually hate you, but don't worry. I still do."

Malfoy shot her a sugared grin in return, then whispered, "Really? I have no issues remembering that I don't like you. Guess you're just falling for me."

Hermione stepped on his toes. He winced, then kissed her again.

She kicked him surreptitously in the shins. He cringed, then broke away. "Hey! Why are you kicking me?"

"Why are you kissing me?" she countered. "There's nobody around!"

He raised a condescending eyebrow. "Actually, that's the Fat Lady right there. She's already left her painting to go tell all her friends - she's a horrific gossip. That's one way to get the information out. And for another thing, well..."

He bent down and pressed his lips gently to hers once more. "I actually kind of like kissing you," he whispered in her ear, wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug, and then left.

Hermione just stood there in the hallway, half horrified, half bemused.

What now?


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own Harry Potter.

I am sorry indeed for the long wait plus the short chapter, but school started up again and then the mother of one of my close friends passed away. For that reason, updates for the next while may be a little sketchy, but I shall attempt to keep to roughly a once-a-week schedule. Still, don't expect anything anytime in the extremely recent future, as I'll need to help her deal with that unfairness of life plus study for my SATS plus take my regular exams plus after school tutoring for National Honor Society and winter conditioning for my sport and church retreats and _sleep_. I'll try, but life just kind of dropped down on my shoulders unexpectedly, and fanfiction is at the bottom of my priorities. But I will keep working on this! :) Please enjoy, and please review. I am a review junkie. I eat reviews like I eat cookies. They make me eager to write, just so more people will say nice things to me. Or constructively critical things to me, if that's your poison...

I'll shut up.

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. "Come on," she whined, "I've got an appointment!"

The gargoyle just stood there, unmoving.

Hermione screwed her face up in exasperation. "Stupid bloody statue..." she was muttering, when the gargoyle suddenly sprung to life, jumping to the side.

"Finally!"

She stuck her tongue out at the gargoyle, then stepped onto the rotating staircase and allowed it to carry her slowly upwards, rather than dashing up the steps like she had the previous day. Arriving at the top, she reached her arm out, preparing to knock, then hesitated. What business could the headmaster have with her, anyway? What was the purpose of the meeting? Why was she here?

Hermione shook her head, and drew her fist back to knock. Dumbledore had asked her here, so it must be something important. But before her hand made contact with the heavy oak door, she heard Professor Dumbledore's voice call out, "Please come in, Miss Granger!"

How did he do that?

Entering, the girl brushed aside her musings and smiled brightly at the headmaster. "Hello, Professor," she said politely.

"Hello, Miss Granger," he replied, with equal courtesy, "Sit down, by all means. Before we get down to business, would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please, sir," Hermione answered, sitting and crossing her legs. He handed her a steaming teacup, and she took a small sip, pleased and surprised to find that it had been prepared exactly how she liked it: no milk or cream and large amounts of honey, rather than regular sugar. She looked questioningly at the headmaster, but he just smiled placidly and shook his sleeve again to cover his shriveled hand.

"Well, Miss Granger, I believe its best we begin. If I am correct in predicting your answer to the proposal I am about to make, we will have much to discuss." He shot her a piercing, twinkling look over his half-moon glasses, and Hermione swallowed reflexively, suddenly and irrationally nervous.

"I-yes, Professor, about that, I was wondering what the-I mean, why you wanted-" Hermione could hear herself blathering, and wondered why she was inexplicably unable to form proper sentences all of a sudden. She could sense that this meeting was going to be far more important than she had initially guessed, but that was no good reason for her to be talking with all the fluency of a well-trained troll.

"Hermione Jean Granger," Professor Dumbledore said strictly, cutting into her nonsense, "I want you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

Hermione, who had just taken a large gulp of her drink, choked and spat tea everywhere. It splattered on her skirt and dripped down her left leg and made a kind of puddle in her stockings near her ankle and now she had tea dripping pathetically out of her nose and Dumbledore wanted her to join the Order.

What.

"What." Hermione didn't realize it had slipped out of her mouth until it was too late and she stared at the headmaster, shocked, and he just smiled mysteriously at her.

"I would like you to join the Order," he repeated, still gazing serenely over his glasses.

"GAH!" Hermione shouted loudly, leaping to her feet and wrapping her fingers in her hair. She began pacing in a sad little circle around her chair. "Did you really just say that? Join the Order? I thought only out-of-school people could join! Why me? Did Harry or Ron join? Are you going to ask them? Will it be dangerous? What do I say?" Her voice just kept getting shriller and shriller and she couldn't make it go back to a normal pitch.

Professor Dumbledore looked pensive, then said, "Yes, yes, we're making an exception, I'll get into that later, no, not yet, probably, that's for you to decide."

Hermione gulped, and closed her eyes. She didn't know why she was acting so strangely. Around Harry and Ron she always had to be the sensible one, the logical one, the only one left with any kind of composure or dignity. In private she was unstable and strange and irrational and even more overly emotional than usual. But almost always she was able to keep the facade up of her perfection. Especially in front of teachers. Hermione saw teachers as a sort of demigod, gatekeepers at the doors of knowledge, wise wizened wizardly sages who would lead her down the path to intellectual greatness.

And she was losing it. Going completely and utterly stark raving mad, and in front of the Headmaster, even!

But that wasn't really the focus of right now, Hermione realized. On the exterior, she was always put-together but internally always kind of unfocused and rambling, and the Headmaster had just asked her something incredibly important. And the shock of the last thing she'd ever anticipated had thrown her off, that was why she couldn't act like a normal human being. She'd had a lot of shock's lately: the Won-Won debacle, plus Malfoy in the bathroom, then that whole "spy" thing, followed by the casually let slip tidbit about Snape and Snape's espionage. And then Malfoy had to go and kiss her, and say crazy things that made her heart pound with - with fury, anger, rage, nothing else!

Important things. Graar.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore looked patiently at her. Hermione suddenly realized that she'd been standing stock still for five minutes, gnawing on her left thumbnail till it bled.

Hermione made a sound like all the air being let out of a rather wheezy balloon, and then collapsed into the old wooden chair like a puppet with its strings cut.

"All right." Hermione said coolly, grabbing a pencil out of her pocket and using it to pin her hair back expertly but haphazardly. "Why do you need me?"

"Because you are the brightest witch of your age," he said kindly, and twinkled.

Hermione snorted. She was immediately horrified at her own rudeness, but continued. "That's a lie, Professor. You are brilliant. You don't need me for that. Next."

Professor Dumbledore looked pleased with her lack of manners rather than offended. "You seem to possess the dubious honor of being someone young Draco Malfoy trusts. As he has refused to join the Order, and he is bound to be a crucial resource, a mediator between him and us-"

"No." Hermione leaned forward in her seat, wondering at all the lies. "That's not it either. It's something to do with Harry."

Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely. Miss Granger, if you agree to my invitation, I am about to tell you a lot of information. I will tell you more than I have taught Mr. Potter, and I will tell you things that he must not know yet. I am about to hand you all the information that he must learn on his own. He needs it gradually to be shaped, emotionally, into the hero who has the ability to defeat Voldemort. You are not such a person, Miss Granger, if you allow me to be so blunt. You are such a person that stands behind him and feeds him the answers he needs to survive. He is the much-sung-of hero. You are the unsung and only heroic in the less impressive ways. But you are as necessary as he is. So?"

"I am not as necessary as Harry is. If our lives were books, his name would be on the front covers in large shiny print. I'm just the clever sidekick. But to joining the Order?" Hermione shook her head, smiling. "Well, obviously I'll have to say yes to that. You just told me that there are things I don't know that you're willing to disclose. How could I say no?"

Dumbledore smiled at her with that look of understanding that meant that he knew that she had much better, nobler reasons for joining than that, and that she only couldn't say them out loud because they're the kind of reasons that only make sense when nobody's forcing her to say them out loud.

Ever since first year she had insisted to herself that when she was older, she was going to be just like Professor McGonagall, strict and smart and bitingly clever and above all, sensible. But now, Hermione thought, maybe she did have that bit of inexplicable craziness that prevented her from ever getting to be like McGonagall, maybe...

Hermione took a breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. She scooted her chair closer to the headmaster's desk, then awkwardly fumbled with her own limbs until she was perched crosslegged on the chair, leaning forward with her elbows on Dumbledore's desk and her hair straggling down next to her face and almost landing in his inkwell and her attention fixed completely and utterly on him.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, "I am dying."


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own Harry Potter.

Sorry for long wait etc etc life kinda hit me all at once for a while. I'll try and update fairly regularly, but...whatever. This chapter is a little fillery, but the plot will start to kick in soon, I promise. Enjoy! Please Review!

* * *

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, "I am dying."

It felt like somebody had punched her in her stomach, a dull, muffled blow, and now she had a hole there, aching and strange.

"What?" Hermione croaked, stunned. "You can't be dying. You're Dumbledore. You don't do things like die."

"I am not immortal," Dumbledore said sadly, "And I do not wish to be. The story behind my hand is a long one, but I believe it is the proper place to begin. I have been afflicted with a very nasty curse. Professor Snape was able to contain it in my hand, but before a year's time is up it will consume me. I have lived long, and after all, death is but the next great adventure."

Dumbledore smiled wistfully at that statement, and Hermione could see in his eyes that his own words had brought him back to an earlier time, an earlier conversation. She swallowed again, feeling her throat start to tighten.

"The story of how I acquired this curse is..." Dumbledore looked intently at her. "Complicated. And inextricably woven together with our mission to bring down Tom Riddle. But it is time that you heard this tale. Miss Granger, what do you know about horcruxes?"

* * *

Draco was having a rather unpleasant conversation with Pansy Parkinson. Well, she was the only one talking. He was sitting in a chair in the Slytherin common room, listening to her screech and trying to block the noise out.

"Draco Malfoy! How dare you shame us by doing Merlin knows what with that filthy mudblood! Do you no longer care about things like honor and purity? What is wrong with you? I thought-"

Draco was intently inspecting a small rip in the hem of his sweater.

"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy looked like she was on the verge of having a minor stroke. "You listen to me! I thought that you were committed to the cause, what with your joining the Dark-"

"Pansy!" he interjected, gray eyes blazing in fury, "Shut up!"

Pansy ignored him. "-Lord and all. But now I'm starting to wonder! I-"

Draco stood up, grabbed Pansy by the sleeve and dragged her out of the common room. "What is your problem?" she whined, looking up at the Malfoy heir with a petulant expression on her puglike face.

"What is my problem?" Draco replied angrily. "What is your problem? What were you thinking, talking about my mission in the common room? I told you because I trusted you, but clearly I was mistaken!"

Draco turned from his erstwhile friend, fuming, and stalked away.

A solitary tear gleamed in Pansy's eye, but she brushed it away and sniffed to herself, "Not my fault. And Parkinson's don't apologize." Haughtily, she walked away, skirt swishing.

And Draco Malfoy smiled. Mission accomplished. That, he decided, had been far far easier than he'd been expecting.

* * *

"Voldemort did _what_ to his soul?"

* * *

Ronald Weasley was having a rather bad day. Everyone was mad at him, and he hated that. Hermione was mad because of Lavendar, Lavender was mad because of Hermione, Harry was irritated with all Ron's drama, and Ginny was still irked about the confrontation with Dean in the abandoned fifth floor corridor. Seamus was upset with Ron on Dean's behalf, Neville was siding with Hermione, Parvati was siding with Lavender, Luna was staying out of it, and Malfoy had always hated Ron. Always.

So Ron was at Quidditch practice. His team was angry with him too, of course, but at least they weren't being as blatant about it as everyone else. Ron wiped sweat off his forehead, and looked down the field to where Ginny and Demelza were engaging in a heated argument with Peakes the beater. It didn't look like they would be getting anywhere near the goalposts anytime soon.

Ron sighed. He was tired of all this. He just wanted to erase the past week or so, end this thing with Lavender, and just go back to the comfortable way things were with Harry and Hermione. But that was impossible, he mused, because everything seemed to be changing. Everyone was growing up. But Ron didn't want to. He didn't want to have to deal with Voldemort and war and pain and love and drama and everything else that seemed to come with adulthood. He wanted to be eleven again and play chess with Harry every day.

The Quaffle sailed through the left goalhoop, and Harry shouted, "Ron! What are you doing? Pay attention!"

Ron sighed. Oops.

* * *

  
"Harry's Invisibility Cloak is a _what_?"

* * *

Harry was strangely happy. He wasn't sure why; he had no reason to be. Ron was alternately moody and snogging Lavender. Hermione was secretive and sulky. Ginny was still dating Dean, Voldemort was on the rise, and Snape was Snape. But somehow things these days just seemed to be lighter, happier, less...angsty.

It was Luna's influence, Harry decided. What with everyone else pretty much ignoring him, he had decided to spend his free time with the cheery blonde Ravenclaw rather than trying to deal with various whiny Gryffindors. Harry really admired the way Luna let all the mean comments roll off her back like water off of waxed paper. She was witty and kind and, yes, odd. But still. Compared to his alternate choices for company, Harry was really growing to like Luna more and more. Sure, she had some crazy ideas, but in the big scheme of things? Whatever.

* * *

  
"HARRY'S SCAR IS A _WHAT_?"

* * *

Ginny Weasley didn't know what to do. She liked Dean, she really did, but things these days were...well, she just didn't think it was working out. They had had a good thing going until about a week ago, when Ron and Harry had caught them snogging in a back hallway. Well, first it had been awkward to the extreme. And Ron had been so furious, not that it was any of his business, that Ginny wondered why. Ron and Dean had been sharing a dorm for the past six years. And Ron was always unreasonable, but Ginny wondered if he mightn't know something about Dean that she didn't. They never really talked about important things, and Ginny had realized at that point that she didn't really know her boyfriend as well as she thought she did.

Of course, that wasn't really the source of Ginny's uneasiness. That was (shockingly!) Harry. He had found them and Ginny had looked into his bright green eyes and seen a sort of...fire there that she hadn't been expecting. He had looked at her in that moment with an intensity she had never before felt directed her way.

And Ginny had felt the entire bottom of her stomach drop out in a way that could be described as not entirely unpleasant. Her knees went all wobbly and her eyes sort of went out of focus and her mind whirred and clicked, blanking momentarily before rocketing back into high gear. Ginny had realized with a strange combination of delight and horror that she was, still, hopelessly in love with Harry James Potter.

"Damn," Ginny muttered under her breath, staring intently at her Charms textbook. "I thought I'd grown out of that."

* * *

Hermione sat in her chair. She was, to be honest, rather embarrassed. Her outbursts during Dumbledore's explanation of the situation had been uncalled for. Actually, Hermione amended, they had been thoroughly called for but still unseemly and juvenile.

Hermione bit her lip. She had learned so much. Horcruxes? Deathly Hallows? It all seemed so unlikely.

Dumbledore said, "You know why I told you this, of course."

Hermione didn't know, not really. She didn't say as much, but Dumbledore saw it in her eyes and answered her unspoken question.

"I had thought that, in the case of my death, I would leave you with plenty of clues to figuring out all the crucial bits of information. I was going to, of course, tell Harry about the Horcruxes, but the rest? If I just dumped it on him at once like I did with you, he would end up making decisions for the wrong reasons. I had planned to leave a series of clues with you that would lead you, eventually, to all the correct answers. I was convinced that I knew the three of you well enough to predict how you would react to certain tidbits of information, and I was sure that my plan was flawless. As students under my care, I was foolishly overconfident in my estimation of my own people-reading skills. I thought I had you, Harry, and every other student at Hogwarts figured out.

"And then Mr. Malfoy went and decided to become a spy.

"And now I'm starting to seriously doubt my own abilities as far as psychological insight goes. I'm really rather old, and I suppose I'm not as on top of things as I once was. I never saw the situation with Mr. Malfoy coming at all, and I was... pleasantly stunned. But now, I have realized, there is no need to ration knowledge anymore. Your willingness to do the right thing even when it meant cooperating with a Slytherin has shown a level of emotional maturity that I didn't really expect, and you, Miss Granger, can handle this information even if Harry and Ron cannot. And so I shall depend on you, after my passing, to tell Harry what he needs to know and only what he needs. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, but Dumbledore hadn't finished yet.

"Harry must not know about his own scar until all the other horcruxes have been disposed of. Do you understand?"

"I-yes, but why not?"

"Because." Dumbledore looked serious, more serious than he ever had before, and somehow old. Hermione had known he was ancient, but it was only in this moment that he truly looked it.

"Mr. Potter must die to fully abolish Lord Voldemort. It is a horrible burden to bear, and I ask that you not add the knowledge of his own fate to the weight already pressing on your friends shoulders. Can you do that for me?"

Hermione sat there, shocked. She hadn't fully connected the dots, hadn't realized that Harry had to die, hadn't truly understood...

But now she did. And now she must do what she must.

Hermione looked into the eyes of her headmaster, and nodded.


End file.
